


Warm

by randompandemic



Series: Cullen & Róisín [12]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, First Date, Fluff, because I am in that kind of mood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 07:51:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4911343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randompandemic/pseuds/randompandemic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the first time Róisín Trevelyan invites Cullen up into her chambers for a nice dinner - and both of them try to outdo each other in terms of nervousness!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm

**Author's Note:**

> This little thing I wrote when half asleep is somewhat closer to canon than most of my other Ros&Cullen stuff. There might be some more like it in the future. I was in the mood for something ridiculously fluffy, so have some completely adorable first date awkwardness.

“Will I see you later?” she had asked him shyly when their meeting at the war table dissolved. With hot cheeks and fiddling hands, insecure about it all. Insecure about where they stood. There had been kisses on the battlements, shy and sweet, learning about the way they liked to be kissed. How he liked to hold her by the hips, how she liked to run her fingers through his golden curls. The way his lips still had that fading bite of years of lyrium. The way she brushed her nose against his, just after their lips had parted. Truly, the first few weeks of their relationship had been all about kisses. And to ask him to join her in her chambers for a private dinner had been nerve-wrecking. An actual date. She had never done that before, Circle mages did not really 'date' and after the Circle... Maker, there had been no thinking about such things. And rejection was not something Ros had ever dealt with gracefully, she had been scared of what he may say for days before she asked him, had braced herself to be shut down gently like he would. But he had smiled, yes positively beamed at her, and agreed to join her. Fumbling for words just as nervously as she felt. And then he nodded and they had left the war room together before they parted ways in the great hall.

Now, several hours later, Róisín Trevelyan paced up and down her chambers. There was candlelight, the fireplace was spreading warmth in the usually cold stone chambers, and she had donned the usual under-armour she wore for a simple, Free Marcher style dress in the colours of House Trevelyan. She had brushed her unruly, short hair, had bathed, even put on some perfume Vivienne had brought from their last journey to Val Royeaux.

What if he did not show? What if he changed his mind and did not want to do this after all, did not want to take their relationship down that road? What if stolen kisses on the battlements was all he wanted out of this? Had she overstepped? Had she gone too fast? Maker, he had told her about his past, about what had happened to him in the Circle of Ferelden, how he had been tortured for weeks by demons of desire. It was entirely possible he wanted no physical relationship. And certainly not a fast one. Maker, she should not have done this!

Hurriedly, she went to put out the many candles she had set up in her frenzy, hands shaking with anger at herself and with unshed tears over her own foolishness. What was she thinking! WAs there still time to send a messenger with some silly excuse as to why she could not do this dinner tonight after all. Was there any way to chicken out of this?

She heard the steps coming up the stairs and froze halfway towards the fourth candle. She looked back and saw his blond locks appear first, then his broad shoulders and…

Maker, he was out of his armour! In all the time she had been with the Inquisition now, she had never seen her Commander without that armour, had never seen him out of the silverite and the red and gold tunic and the large fur pauldrons. Now he was just in a simple, dark red woollen shirt, laces in the front slightly undone, revealing a small glimpse of golden chesthair. It was tight around his firm chest and over his muscular arms, but it accentuated his lean, athletic built. The black leather trousers he wore were the ones he usually had under his armour, too, and the boots were familiar as well, except he had no knee guards or metal tips on his boots this time.

Cullen froze at the top of the stairs and let his gaze wander over the room, before it stuck to her form again. It made her acutely aware of the dress she wore. Too much? She should have kept it more casual! _Oh Maker_!

“You… ah… you look beautiful tonight…” he said. She saw a flush creep into his cheeks and he rubbed the back of his neck nervously, just like he had done the day they first kissed. They had talked about the weather.

“T-thank you. You look… I… I have never seen you out of that armour before,” she replied, voice cracking a little as she spoke.

“I… I wasn’t sure how formal you… But that is a lovely dress... maybe I should change… I-”

She crossed the distance swiftly, long skirts swishing with every step when she caught his arm as he was about to turn and leave. Flee, more like it.

“No. Don’t. I… I like it. I like to see the man underneath the armour for once…” she said, skin prickling when she felt his strong forearm under her hand. His gaze moved from her hand to her face and after a moment, he smiled and nodded. His hand covered hers, the other, the one she still held, slowly came to her waist, he let it glide, feeling the fabric of her dress no doubt, before his eyes returned to hers.

“May… may I?” he asked.

“You needn’t ask…” she whispered, stepping closer and looking up at him. He bowed down enough for their noses to brush, for their breath to mingle, before he tilted his head a little and kissed her.

Cullen’s kiss was always a wonder. He started so soft, so careful, as if to give her every possibility to pull back, to stop him. When she did not, he gently pulled her lower lip between his, let the tip of his tongue glide over it, before he seared his lips to hers firmly. Hot and sweet and the roughness of his scar in contrast to the softness of his lips.

They stood in this kiss long. It felt like hours, melting away to the touch of his lips, until finally he pulled away reluctantly. He was flushed – or maybe it was the dim light in her chambers – and there was something warm in his golden eyes. But then he blinked, cleared his throat and leaned down to the topmost step, where he had put down a dark bottle earlier.

“I, um… I brought wine. I hope you don’t mind. A merchant from Kirkwall came by earlier today and I saw the bottle. It was one of the finest I tasted in my years there, I… I thought it would be nice to share it with you. If you like.”

She cast him a beaming smile.

“That’s lovely. Thank you. Let me.”

She took the bottle he offered and returned to the table, took the two chalices she had set out for them and filled them each with wine, not too much for now, just a few sips each to start them off, loosen their tongues a little, wash away the nervousness. She heard his steps come closer.

“You… lit candles.”

“It’s too much, isn’t it? I wasn’t sure. I was just about to take them all out, it’s too much, I-”

This time, he was the one reassuring her, his hand catching hers and bringing it to his lips. He smiled.

“It’s lovely. You… _you_ are lovely… _Maker_ , I am bad at this!” he said, laughing nervously as his hands caressed hers. Ros felt her heart race.

“I don’t know, I think you’re doing pretty great…” she admitted. He laughed, a sweet sound, one she enjoyed hearing.

Ros handed him his wine chalice and they clanked them together, eyes never leaving each other.

“To a lovely evening,” she toasted. He nodded with a smile, and they each took a sip. 

* * *

A lovely evening it was. They had a delicious meal, sat together and talked for many hours, caressing hands across the table, emptying that bottle of wine he had brought, letting the candles burn down with no mind to pay them. _Maker_ , she could get lost in these eyes of his, the warmth, the affection she saw in them. She loved the way it felt to have his fingertips absentmindedly stroke the back of her hands. She loved the sound of his voice when he told her about growing up in Honnleath, the way he chuckled when he fondly remembered his sibling's teasings, the way he clutched to her hands when he told her how he still sometimes had nightmares of that day in Haven, when he had almost lost her. And _Maker_ , the way he sometimes looked at her before he told her how breath-taking she was, that he still sometimes felt like he was in a dream, to think that she would want to be with him of all people. And every time she would reassure him that there was no one she would rather be with.

As it grew later and heavy rain drummed against the stained glass windows, Cullen finally got up from where he had sat by her side on the chaise watching the fire with an arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“I… I should probably return to my chambers. I, ah… have some work left to do and the weather looks to be getting worse…”

“Yes, of course,” Ros said, ever so slightly out of breathe from the sudden distance. She wanted to reach out for him, but held her hands back, wanting to give him the space he needed. “I… I mean… you… you could stay? If you… I mean, you don’t have to leave on my account… I mean… I… I know you… you need space… and time… but… I want you to know that you can always stay.”

He hesitated as she stumbled and fumbled over her own words. Maker’s breath she was tongue-tied! _She_ was bad at this! She wanted him to stay. She wanted to lie in his arms and listen to the storm outside and feel warm and safe and fall asleep against his chest. She gasped. “I-I don’t mean to push you to anything. I would just… I would like to just… lie next to you. If that is alright.”

“Róisín…”

 _Maker_ the way he said her name, a whisper, gentle and soft and almost reverent.

“Ugh, I am making a fool of myself, aren’t I…”

His hands came to her cheeks, capturing her face and making her turn to him. He was smiling, the light in his eyes so sincere and so kind when he leaned his forehead to hers.

“I would love to stay,” he whispered, before he gently pressed his lips to hers. It made her knees weak every time, the way he kissed her, the way he made her feel, so loved. And the kiss ended far too soon for her liking. “I… can’t promise… I don’t know how much I can… _give_ you… just yet. But if you will let me stay by your side, maybe in time…”

“Anytime! All the… no matter what. I am just… I would just be happy to be near you,” she sighed, then rolled her eyes at herself. “ _Maker_ , I sound like a blushing little girl.”

He chuckled low in his chest and brushed his fingertips through her hair.

“I find it really quite endearing…” he whispered with an almost playful smirk before he kissed her once more. And this time, no matter how hard she tried, she could not fight back the soft moan escaping her. It made him pull away surprised.

“Sorry,” she whispered, cheeks burning. But he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her up close against him, kissing her again. This time a kiss going for the kill. Deep and intense and all kinds of burning, teeth grazing her lips, tongues meeting in languid strokes. Her arms came around his neck and her fingers dug in his hair, feeling the soft curls against her palms as he held her firmly in his arms. She nearly stumbled, knees giving out under her, but there was nowhere to fall with him holding her securely.

As they parted, she lingered close enough to still taste his breath on her lips, the tip of her nose softly brushing his and it made him smile.

“Maker, I love it when you do that…” he whispered. She chuckled.

“Well, now that you are staying… won’t you take off these boots?” she asked coyly, lower lip pulled between her teeth. She led him towards the bed by the hands and as they sat down, he complied with slipping off his boots. They sank back onto the bed, Ros propped up against her pillows as he lay down next to her and she carefully, almost hesitant, brushed her fingertips through the curls at his temple. He looked over at her, a questioning look on his features although he did not speak. She pulled back a little. “I… want to give you the space you need. I don’t want you to feel crowded.”

Cullen shook his head.

“You know… for a very long time I was scared of a situation like this. But with you, I… I would like to try…”

He gently pulled her closer towards him so his arms could close around her, holding her against him – her head resting against his chest. She could feel her heart race, both with excitement and with happiness. It was just as she had imagined it. His arms around her both strong yet gentle, the warmth of his body so soothing, and familiar. She barely had any memories left about that dreadful night when Haven fell and she fought her way through the storm, barely remembered anything from collapsing atop the pass to waking at the Inquisition camp. But she did remember this feeling. She remembered the safety of his arms, the warmth of his body, the way he cradled her against him, keeping the biting cold away, remembered him whispering to her – although she did not remember his words, she remembered his voice, warm and worried. Warm. There was… just so much _warmth_ about Cullen. Warmth he hid, under his armour, so often, and she had never been aware of it so acutely. Now it was all she could think about. How very  _warm_ he was.

She snuggled closer, and with the thunder rolling overhead and the drumming of rain against stone and glass, her eyes fell shut as she drifted off to sleep.

“Will you be here… when I wake up?” she asked, barely still awake.

“I will, my love. I will…” he whispered. And even though she was already half asleep, his choice of words worked their own magic, putting a smile on her lips.

 _My love_.


End file.
